


eddie and richie's very limited playlist

by tossertozier (rednoseredhair)



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of Sex, Pining, Toxic Relationship, no seriously, serious ass pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 03:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednoseredhair/pseuds/tossertozier
Summary: 1. don't pick up the phone. you know he's only calling 'cause he's drunk and alone.2. don't let him in. you'll have to kick him out again.3. don't be his friend. you know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the morning.and if you're under him, you ain't getting over him.





	eddie and richie's very limited playlist

**Author's Note:**

> this is not a love story. lowkey a song fic. play list here : https://open.spotify.com/user/abep0ce977q2db9p9gcdu156y/playlist/4gp6Ycqb3fgz1M706FN4h9

BUT HE DOESN’T LOVE ME, SO I TELL MYSELF. I TELL MYSELF:

_i need to stop_ , eddie thinks as he drops back another shot. it hardly burns his throat and he barely wrinkles his nose when he drops the bottle of vodka back on the floor. he rolls over in his sheets, realizing the twitch in his nose might have been caused by the scent of the cigarette that’s filling the air. eddie explained to richie over and over again why hates cigarettes and it had little to do with his lungs or the smell and everything to do with his father and richie still can’t manage to give a fuck. “your taste is trash, eds,” richie comments patronizingly as he scrolls through eddie’s apple music account on his phone. he gave up awhile ago, richie could look through eddie’s entire phone for all he gave a fuck. there’s nothing there that would surprise him after 14 years.  

“then don’t look at it,” eddie huffs, rolling into his pillow. he feels the alcohol slosh around in his stomach and he screws his eyes shut. richie’s spotify playlist is playing. eddie’s heard it thousands of times but he can’t tell you the name of any of the songs.

_ i’m not here _ , the song croons out on top of acoustic guitars,  _ this isn’t happening. _

“can’t help it.” 

eddie doesn’t know what they’re talking about. it doesn’t seem like it’s the playlists.

his hands started shaking at some point and he doesn’t know when that was. there’s chill setting into his exposed shoulders because richie’s cracked the window. he presses his forehead into the pillow and decides to just sleep.

richie will be gone by the time he wakes up. 

richie’s lips are warm when they pressed into his shoulder, the top knob of his spine. he licks delicately at it. his lips are heated from the cigarette or it might have been eddie’s mouth a few minutes before. 

eddie groans into his pillow.

“eddie, baby,” richie tosses the bud out the window. it’ll land on the city sidewalk. maybe one of eddie’s neighbors, or someone from the ugly brick building across the street.

“fuck off, tozier.”

“come on,” he mutters into his neck, biting down softly, worming his hands under eddie’s midsection. “one more.” eddie’s face stays decidedly pressed into his pillow. it smells like his coconut shampoo and the chicken curry he wolfed down yesterday after work. 

“here, we’ll put on your shit-ass playlist,” richie sits up, as if that’s what anything is about. he puts one on, the wrong one, and soft female voices singing  _ bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum _ fills the air between them. he feels long fingers at the back of his head, where his hair spirals off. richie’s fingers dig in, almost painfully, shoving his head to the side. grumpily, eddie lets his face be seen. richie kisses his cheekbone, ignoring eddie’s shut eyes. he kisses his ear lobe, bites it gently. eddie sighs, because richie is gripping his hip and he knows he’ll be unrelenting. 

eddie’s ass is already aching, his stomach is turning, and he still rolls over, picking up the vodka off the floor. he tosses some back, and when richie touches him, he lets him. 

_ this is my winter song to you, the storm is coming soon. _

_ it rolls in from the sea. _

hours later, it’s his roommate, mike, who finds him with his hot face pressed into the toilet seat. 

“eddie?” his soft voice calls out. he’s come home from his job at the restaurant. he looks as exhausted as eddie feels. eddie thinks he can see the city slowly sucking the life out of each of his friends. maybe that’s why he feels so boneless, so unable to move.

or it might have been the vodka. 

mike flicks the light in the cramped bathroom on. eddie barely has room to be on the floor next to the toilet. the floor seems permanently disgusting no matter how much they scrub at it. eddie can’t bring himself to care, as there’s another wave of nausea turning his stomach inside out. 

“oh, eddie.” mike sounds more upset than eddie’s felt any emotion in a while. he pulls his messenger bag off his shoulder. his black shirt is somehow stained from the restaurant. he creeps quietly up to eddie, as if he’s an animal that might spook. he runs his fingers through eddie’s sweaty hair. his touch is so different from richie’s. so selfless. he’s not going to ask for head at the end of it. 

the tears stinging at the corner of eddie’s eyes aren’t even satisfying. they just hurt. they burn with his throat and he hiccups and tries to ground himself into mike’s breathing. 

“you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

* * *

 

DON’T PICK UP THE PHONE. YOU KNOW HE’S ONLY CALLING ‘CAUSE HE’S DRUNK AND ALONE.

“did you see this?” there are two identical envelopes on the counter. eddie doesn’t know why he bothered to send two. he and mike live together, he knows this. 

“mhmm’” eddie hums, shoving another spoonful of cereal in his mouth. he’s curled up on their futon. it’s all they could fit in their shared space, which he calls a kitchen and mike calls their living room. their futon is three feet away from the oven. 

“are we...gonna open them?” mike asks, and eddie hears the shuffle of him picking his up. 

“wasn’t planning on it,” eddie thinks about turning up the volume on his show...he doesn’t know what it is. he thinks its one of the soap operas. they’re all the same.

“we…” mike sighs. he sets down the pathetic bag of groceries he can afford on the counter. “we should know the date.”

“i didn’t say you couldn’t.” eddie replies coolly. his cereal is out of the crunch nubs. it’s just milk. he swirls his spoon around in it. he drains the milk quickly, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“aren’t you best man?” 

“no.” eddie says shortly as he stands. he throws out his bowl. the dishes kept piling up and they couldn’t keep up, so they just bought plastic everythings. 

“who is?”

mike isn’t going to drop this. eddie gets down a bottle of rum from the cabinet. he hears mike sigh, but he wouldn’t dare say anything. eddie just needs a shot if he’s going to be forced to look at the wedding invitation for bill denbrough. 

“i don’t know if he’s picked one. he hasn’t mentioned it. it’s probably richie.” he grabs a carton of apple juice from the fridge and not a glass. he hears his mother screaming softly in the back of his mind when he drinks both straight from the bottle. mike won’t drink either of them, it’s fine. “because everyone wants blind monkey toddler with authority issues as the manager of their wedding party.”

mike snorts, but holds out the invitation to eddie.  

he takes another swig before ripping open the envelope. the paper is expensive. he doubts audra would have anything less. there’s a fancy floral embossing on the top. he slams it down into the countertop because goddamnit it had always been real but now it’s tangible and he feels mike’s sympathetic eyes on his face. 

he smiles at mike, because he’s fine, he thinks his heart might be trying to take up permanent residence in his lungs and maybe that’s why he can’t breathe, but really.  _ it’s fine _ . 

he leaves the invitation there but takes the rum and his phone and shuts his door and it’s slightly louder than normal.

he lasts two hours before he’s concerned he’s going to actually rip his own hair out. 

“come over,” he says after two and a half rings when the line picks up.

“you’re drunk.” richie doesn’t even ask, he just says it. he knows. eddie coughs a little. eddie can’t argue with richie, so he asks what he wants to ask. 

“are you his best man?” eddie can’t help it. he has to know.

richie sighs. “i’ll be there in twenty minutes.” 

they give up on talking about thirty seconds into it, and their hands are on each other. richie’s music choice that night is almost boppy. he lifts eddie up by his thighs and puts him on his dresser, effectively knocking like twelve things off of it. eddie giggles into richie’s mouth when richie stammers an apology. he outright laughs when richie’s shirt gets caught on his head when he tries to take it off. richie looks miffed when he can finally rip it off, until he catches a look at eddie’s face. his smile is stretched wide, unable to keep the giggles from bubbling out of his chest. 

eddie isn’t sure if he jumped off the chest of drawers into richie’s arms or if he’s lifted or if it’s something in between, but they meet in the middle. he laughs when richie spins them in the small room. they’re too busy laughing to kiss. he collapses backwards onto eddie’s bed, and richie falls with him. 

_ you don’t know how to keep warm.  _

richie pushes up above him, just looking down at him, and eddie wrinkles his nose despite his smile, in a meek protest of being stared at.

richie’s glasses fall on to his face. “ow.” he complains, picking them up and twisting them around. He plops them on to his own face, they’re too big, and he can’t lay back without them falling forward and off. it doesn’t matter. his vision is unbelievably blurry. 

“christ, four-eyes. you really are blind.” he takes them off, and slips them delicately back on to richie’s face. he does it just in time to see richie’s fond smile. “there.” he sets them where they belong, and lets his fingertips brush richie’s chin. 

richie’s eyes crinkle up when he smiles that time, and he ducks down and peppers a bunch of little kisses into eddie’s neck, on his face. eddie laughs as he grabs his upper arms and he thinks to himself that this is it. this is almost enough.

_ it takes more than fucking someone to keep yourself warm. _

* * *

 

DON’T LET HIM IN, YOU’LL HAVE TO KICK HIM OUT AGAIN.

_ all i know is that you’re so nice. _

_ you’re the nicest thing i’ve seen.  _

he’s wallowing. he’s listening to his wallowing playlist, but he doesn’t have work tomorrow, so he’s wallowing. he requested off, but he has no intention of going anywhere that night but deeper into his own thoughts. 

he hears the knocking but whatever mike ordered from grubhub he couldn’t afford to, he could answer the door and get it himself. 

he hears, through paper thin walls, the sounds of mike padding to the door. he hears it open. after a minute he doesn’t hear it shut. that’s odd. whoever it was, grubhub would have fucked off by then, and if mike has a guest they’d just come in.

“i just don’t know if that’s a good idea, man.”

“mike, he’s an adult. move.” he hears richie’s voice and he scrambles to his feet. he pokes his face out of his door even though he’s wearing p.j. pants and a hoodie. richie’s eyes settle on him almost instantly. 

“what are you doing here?” eddie squints. mike looks in between them. mike has his coat on. 

“why are you wearing that?” richie wrinkles his nose. he checks his phone worriedly. “get dressed.” 

“for what?” eddie raises an eyebrow. 

richie looks appalled. mike presses a calm hand into his shoulder with a soft warning “richie…”

richie’s mouth opens anyway.

when doesn’t it.

“the bachelor party, goddamnit eddie. you knew it was tonight.” eddie ducks his head back into his room, and slams the door. he locks it quickly, flipping around, exhaling deeply when he hears richie start yelling. “eddie, fUCK.” he hears mike try and hold him back from flinging himself at the door. mike evidently fails. richie’s fists on the other side pound into the door right near eddie’s ears. he sinks down to the floor. he wraps his arms around his knees. “eddie, come on. open the door. please.” the pounding continues. “eddie, you haven’t seen him since…” eddie knows the exact last time he saw bill. the time he got so fucking high he sat in his lap and spilled over a decades worth of feelings. i love you, billy, i've always loved you. he practically vomited them in his face. when they woke up, they laughed, and bill did a very good job at pretending like he didn't know every word of it was true. eddie doesn’t need reminders. “eddie.” richie’s voice changes to pleading. “come out, please. it will kill him.” 

_ basically, i wish that you loved me.  _

_ i wish that you needed me.  _

_ i wish that you knew when i said two sugars, actually, i meant three. _

eddie shuts his eyes and breathes into his knees. he feels like the blue plaid pants are mocking him. it’s quiet for a few moments. “FUCK.” richie slams a fist into the door, and walks away. he and mike argue but eddie either can’t hear or isn’t listening properly because god help him he’s not going. his heart is thumping in his chest almost painfully. everything became painful that december. 

mike knocks softly, the way he normally does. three gentle raps. 

“eddie,” and it doesn’t matter what he says because eddie is not going, “bev, ben, and stan are in town.” except it does. it does when it's his people, and god knows the next time they'll be back in town.

he recognizes the song playing, but he doesn't know it's name. so does richie, but eddie is sure he could tell you its name and all about it. his face lights up, and his head does this thump along to the beat. eddie knows at some point in time it would have been incredibly endearing. he wonders if he can make it be so again. 

_ stop me, oh, oh, stop me. stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before.  _

“get me a long island ice tea.” he tells richie when he shifts into the booth. richie gives him a skeptical look that eddie can barely see because of the dark lighting in the place. it’s an entirely wrong choice for bill’s bachelor party. if eddie had planned it...well it doesn’t matter. it is wrong, though. it isn’t bill at all. 

“how about a cider, okay?” he grabs eddie’s chin and eddie tries so hard to find it sweet and not infuriatingly patronizing. 

“get the man his iced tea,” bill laughs, missing the entire point. he grabs eddie’s shoulder, as if he’ll bolt at any moment. as if he’s happy eddie even showed his face. as if he had his doubts he would. “it’s on me,” he tries to get his wallet out of his pocket.

“billy,” ben chastises, “that’s not how bachelor parties work. here, rich-” and because eddie knows ben, he knows it’s not a power-play move. he doesn’t know how his friends know that he makes the least of all of them, but he hates that they can tell somehow. 

richie gets handed a card and he gives eddie another wary look. eddie shoots him a warning look that tells him not to start prattling on about eddie’s relationship with alcohol. richie almost laughs. a few years ago he would have. he kisses eddie’s temple, harsh and quick. he disappears into the crowd. 

_ oh, who said that i’d lied because i never? i never _

_ who said i lied because i never.  _

“are you two together?” bev sliders into the booth next to eddie. she looks giddy, almost conspiratorial as she asks. like being together was always a joyous thing. 

“uh.” eddie swallows and looks at mike. mike didn’t hear the question. “i don’t think so.” 

bev laughs like it’s a joke and eddie guesses it sounds like one. “i want to hear all about it later,” she links their pinkies and eddie tries so hard to look like the eddie he used to be, “i always thought you two were meant to be.”

“please, please.” he tightens his pinky in hers, and spares a glance for bill “don’t say that.” 

she laughs again, and eddie thinks he must be doing better at this acting gig than he thought he was. 

_ i still love you _

_ only slightly, only slightly, less than i used to.  _

there is nowhere for him to be. his options are scrolling through pictures of bill and audra with a happily flushed, tipsy bill and bev and ben, or dancing with stan, mike and richie and both are terrible. he wants to go home. he needs to go home. he needs to kill richie, and then go home. 

or maybe take richie home with him. 

eddie spares a glance for bev and ben’s hands. he just needs to be wanted. 

by anyone.

but strangers scare him.

and richie and his knotted hair and big hands are a comfort. 

richie has his hips pressed into stan. stan is drunker than eddie thought or maybe he just stopped caring so much. stan wraps a languid arm around his neck, and laughs loudly when richie puts raucous, open mouthed kisses on his neck. stan twirls away from him bopping him on his face. he catches mike’s arms and spins into them. richie laughs harder when mike dips him. a girl sways her way into richie’s hands. richie dips her in a similar manner. he’d fuck her, eddie can tell, because he leans in with interest. his fingers curl into her back when he pulls her up against him. she has straight blonde hair and a rather large nose but it makes her all the more fetching. what’s-her-face giggles when he flips her around quickly. 

eddie downs the rest of his drink, and he stands. 

eddie knows he'll be better than what's-her-face in bed, anyway.

he tries not to think of it, but he's good, and he knows he's good. he's a delicious mix of dominance and submission when richie needs his masculinity stroked. right now, he has his hand lightly gripping eddie's throat while he kissed down his chest. eddie arched up into his touch, knowing richie needs to feel needed. richie's teeth gently scrape his nipple and eddie moans. richie lets his fingers crawl up his throat. eddie lets a digit slip into his mouth, sucking wantonly as he can manage. richie shoves eddie's pants the rest of the way off. eddie shuts his eyes. richie isn't delicate the way bill would be. there's no way eddie could know for sure and somehow he does. bill would be all slow-motion, as soft as his voice, insisting on kissing his wrist, his inner thighs. bill would touch his hair so softly it would almost feel like petting, when he kissed him. but bill would know how to fuck. his thrusts would be sharp, and deep, and he feels bill's fingers pressing into him and he moans. 

the hand freezes. richie's breath hitches. 

eddie doesn’t know what he’s said. that’s the maddening part about it. “fuck,” he sits up. richie’s hands stay where they are. he’s contemplating the entire thing. “i’m sorry, rich. i didn’t-”

“it’s okay,” he shoves his glasses up on his face. his thumb presses almost painfully into eddie’s rib-cage. “you know i-”  _ know _ , eddie thinks. richie clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. he changes course, mid-sentence, “‘m used to playing second fiddle to billy-boy.” 

“richie,” eddie sighs, his eyes softening. “that’s not tru-”

“for fuck’s sakes, eddie.” he rips his hands off of him and eddie feels the cold bit his skin where richie leaves it, “don’t lie to me,” he stands up, whipping off his shirt even though it’s apparent they’re not having sex that night. “i’m not a fucking child.” he uses the deodorant on eddie’s dresser. he trades shirts out for one in his black leather bag. 

he shuts eddie’s door behind him.

he doesn’t know what hurts more, that he’s off to find another what’s-her-face, or that eddie has to make himself care about it. 

he just wants to be in love with richie tozier, who doesn’t love him, but in a different way. a survivable way. 

eddie swears this is over to mike. come what may, they’re done.

* * *

 

DON’T BE HIS FRIEND, YOU KNOW YOU’RE GONNA WAKE UP IN HIS BED IN THE MORNING.

the wedding is beautiful. the church is decorated in lillies and delicate lights. soft fabrics hang from wooden rafters and the women look genuinely beautiful in soft make up and wavy hair. they were tasteful green dresses that look nice and soft compared to the deep gray of the groomsmen suits. there's a modestly large crowd of guests which bill can afford to feed because of the whole book thing. eddie stays away from richie. richie seems unbothered by it. eddie manages to zone out for most of the actual ceremony, and it's almost like it doesn't sting. he can watch the little flower girl throw petals all over the aisle, watch them flutter gently to the floor and be somewhere else. he can listen to the soft orchestrations of the four piece orchestra and he's at a symphony far away. the light filters in from the large stained glass window, beautiful patterns splashing on to the white of audra's dress.

it’s objectively beautiful ceremony. the reception is no different, in a grand ball room in the city. there's a bar in one corner and a fantastic band in the other, one of the few things richie truly came through on as best man. he thought he timed it better, but he comes back from the restroom during their dance. the music is gentle, and people are gathered around to watch bill and audra sway. eddie can somehow see them despite the people. he feels like it's a punishment of some kind. 

_ but the sun’s been quite kind while i wrote this song _

_ it’s for people like you that keep it turned on _

he thinks, while looking at bill’s beaming face, that the lyrics are not untrue.

bill holds her gently, but is grinning into her shoulder. he looks not just like someone who spent time in the sun, but someone who was purely made of it. he radiates the good things eddie knows is in his heart. his hands are gentle, high up on her back like a gentleman. they can't really dance, and they didn't take lessons, because it hardly felt like them. they look content to sway. they look content to do anything as long as it's together.

he knows if anything in the universe is fair, based on all of the good things bill has put out into the world, it will come back to him, and they will be deliriously happy. 

the worst part is when his heart sings for him. the worst part is how much eddie just wants him to be happy, and he looks so goddamned happy. 

_ it may be quite simple, but now that it's done _

_ i hope you don’t mind that i put down in words _

_ how wonderful life is while you’re in the world _

couples, bill’s parents, ben and bev, stan and patty, begin to join the floor. eddie sees richie getting tugged on by someone...maybe she was in the bridal party. eddie wasn’t paying enough attention to know. he had checked out that weekend as much as it was possible. richie lets himself be pulled out to the floor, seeing eddie watching him. he doesn’t ask for eddie’s permission. it’s not his to give, anyway. 

there’s a hand on eddie’s shoulder. it’s large and it’s comforting. it’s mike, who’s pulling him out to the floor. eddie tucks his face into his shoulder and mentally flips off audra’s probably homophobic extended family. he doesn’t let himself think that they’re bill’s family now, too.

the night passes painfully slowly. eddie talks a lot with bev about her new life as a married woman. he dances very little, and drinks a little more than he planned on. he's counting the minutes until he can make a graceful escape. after giving _the_ speech, eddie sees richie looking pensive by the bar. he thinks he can handle this, that he can have a decent conversation with one of his best friends without it ended in sheets. 

“careful, eddie,” richie drawls, low and slow, when eddie approaches him. “apparently, you don’t think we’re together.” he almost laughs around the bottle of his beer when he takes a swig. 

“we’re not, richie.” he sits down on a stool next to him. richie laughs, and he nods his head. “if we were, you’d be an awful boyfriend. you’ve been draped all over stan all weekend.” 

richie frowns, but obviously agrees. 

“and i’m pretty sure you fucked that bridesmaid in the coat closet.” eddie adds on because it feels necessary.

“what?” richie says indignantly, “you wouldn’t.” as in: eddie wouldn’t have fucked him in the coat closet, which was true, he wouldn’t have, but it didn’t negate the fact richie was missing the entire fucking point. 

“what were you thinking about?” eddie changes the subject, because he doesn’t want to explain to richie the entire coat closet thing.

“that,” richie licks his lips, takes another sip. “that is a grown-ass bill we’ve got there.” 

“i-” eddie doesn’t know how to respond to that. “i...guess. yeah.”

“we’re grown-ups, eds.”

“we’ve been grown-ups, rich.” 

richie laughs, and raises his eyebrows at eddie in a maybe you have sort of fashion. eddie lets the laugh tumble out of him almost against his will. richie woke up early that morning, eddie can tell, because his eyelids are drooping more than usual, dark lashes displayed on his pale cheek. eddie’s mouth quirks up, and his eyes trace the line of richie’s sharp cheekbone. they drag across his jawline, and eddie thinks about kissing it. 

“quit looking at me like that, eddie.”

“like what?” eddie feigns innocence, picking up richie’s lime off the napkin on the bar. he sucks on it, flicking his tongue out showily.

“like that. you know what’s gonna happen,” richie gives him a flat look. 

“do i?”

_ you know better babe, you know better babe, than to look at it like that, to look at it like that. _

_ you know better babe, you know better babe, than to talk to it like that, to talk to it like that. _

they go to richie’s. it’s further away. eddie doesn’t say it’s because he won’t be able to handle mike’s disappointment - it is. richie’s flat is a one bedroom loft but its artistically rustic and around the same square footage as he and mike’s two bedroom. eddie sits on richie’s lap while a record, an actual record, spins behind them. 

he kisses slow, and dirty, and doesn’t play fair, baring down on richie’s lap after tortuously slow circles. he thinks maybe if you could be addicted to touch, he’s addicted to the scrape of richie’s nails on his hips. he surrenders himself to it, wrapping his arms around richie’s neck lazily. richie tilts his head back, away from eddie. he holds eddie still, changing the direction of the grinding. eddie’s breath hitches, and a breathy high-pitched whine falls out of his mouth.

_ you don’t understand, you should never know _

_ how easy you are to need. _

richie smirks, but lets himself be pulled back to eddie. their mouths meet again, sliding against each other, eddie licking into his mouth. eddie wants to rip the shirt right off him, buttons and all. it's a rental, so he settles for fumbling with the buttons with trembling, impatient fingers. he's still very much in richie's lap, on the couch, in his flat. he needs to not be. he needs to be somewhere else. he's trying, so very hard, to get lost in richie and these goddamned buttons are in his way. eddie feels himself get pushed back a little bit. richie is watching him, almost studying him behind the glasses. 

his eyebrows quirk up, like it's a warning. like it's eddie's last chance to pull back. 

_ don't let me in with with no intention to keep me _

_ jesus christ, don't be kind to me. _

eddie kisses him. he huffs into his mouth, like an alright, fuck it, kind of huff, and flips them over. he presses eddie into the couch and eddie can feel it, fucking finally. it takes the heavy weight of richie on top of him and the firm couch under him and the melody thumping between them, but he tilts his head back. He's gone. He's a part of something, a part of Eddie and Richie and he feels himself calm down and grind against richie because that'll do.

richie kisses him agressively, biting his neck like a teenager, sucking bruises into it. he took off eddie's shirt before they even properly got in the door, but he's shoving up his own sleeves. he seems hungry as if eddie had fed right into his hand and he was finally in his element. he loses richie too. he doesn't know who he is but richie is gone, and then it's just them. 

_ honey don't feed me. _

_ i will come back. _

it's ten minutes after and eddie's heart rate hasn't slowed down. eddie tries to tell himself for a half second he doesn't know why. and then, he can't, and it crushes his chest. it makes a good effort at folding him in half, squeezing the breath out of him and eventually the life. eddie really, really hoped it would stop hurting after the wedding. he actually thought it might. he has never felt more foolish than sitting there on richie tozier’s bed. his chest is aching. his head pounds. the music is stopped. 

eddie doesn’t even want to be drunk. he doesn’t want to be touched or talked to or anything. he doesn’t want to be in richie’s room and he doesn’t want to be anywhere else. he doesn’t want to be sitting and he won’t stand. he wishes he could put a pause on existing. he wishes everything could be still. 

he knows that’s impossible with trashmouth in the bed behind him. he sits on the edge of it, crosses his legs. he grabs the comforter next to himself and wraps himself in it. 

“are you alright?” richie asks finally. he hears the sound of richie’s zippo flipping open. he’s lighting a cigarette. eddie doesn’t want to know if he doesn’t remember what eddie told him or if he doesn’t care. he doesn’t know what would be better. 

“no.” eddie answers because there’s no point in lying. richie hates getting lied to. 

it’s a long moment then. eddie curls his fists up in the comforter and then releases them several times. he inspects the gray wooden flooring. it’s remarkably clean. the entire flat is. 

“do you want to get married?” richie asks as plainly as he would about the weather. he doesn’t ask if eddie loves him. richie hates getting lied to. 

richie could have meant any number of things. he could be asking if eddie wants to in general, to someone, someday. he could have meant he was prepared to go out and do it that night. he could have meant that he’d do it properly, buy the ring and get the nice meal out and post all of the sappy stuff on facebook and have invitations and bachelor party. eddie knows richie does this purposefully, takes all the real decision making out of his hands. he asks the question but lets eddie decide what the question even is. 

“no.” eddie says finally.   

it’s the truth.

* * *

 

AND IF YOU’RE UNDER HIM, YOU AIN’T GETTING OVER HIM. 

when he leaves richie’s, he tells himself it’s the last time.

(he left a toothbrush there.)

he tells himself it’s the last time anyway. 

the only good thing about winter, eddie thinks, as he crunches past dead-looking trees, is that it reminds you that things have to die to grow again. 

he puts in his headphones when he creeps down the steps to the subway station, moving quicker than normal because new york is eating into his hands, his face. he can hear as much of the city as he can hear the song he chooses.

_ blackbird singing in the dead of night, _

_ take these broken wings and learn to fly. _

_ all your life, _

_ you were only waiting for this moment to arise.  _

**Author's Note:**

> i'm...sorry ???????? n o one will read this but its been harassing my mind for two days. 
> 
> u can also be mad @ me at my tumblr tossertozier.


End file.
